


Counting Crows

by Mustachiest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universes, Groundhog day but like Rebirth, Hogwarts, Like how video games have save points you know., M/M, Might change summary if I am struck by lightning, Mindfuck, Rebirth, Tom Riddle's Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-20 17:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13722852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mustachiest/pseuds/Mustachiest
Summary: Tom Riddle has 7 lives to stop the madness that is Hadrian Peverell.





	Counting Crows

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any errors, This has been halfway beta-ed by nanimok ! 
> 
> Shameless self-promo: If you guys want to send writing requests or just random asks hit me up at Mustachiest on Tumblr! It gets lonely :)
> 
> Harry Potter is not mine nor is the exorcism thing.  
> If exorcism triggers you you can back up now dears.
> 
> Kudos and comments go a long way :)  
> Thank you!

**.Counting Crows.**

 

O N E   F O R   S O R R O W

 

_“Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.”_

_―_ [ **_Jalaluddin Mevlana Rumi -_ ** **_مولوی_ ** ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/875661.Jalaluddin_Mevlana_Rumi_)

 

* * *

 

Voldemort is his Past, Present, and Future.

How ironic that this phrase applies to both Harry and Tom. They were so eerily alike that sometimes, just sometimes, He questioned himself as to why he did not end up like _him_.

Was it because of their difference in ambition? Their houses? Their different group of friends?

Whatever it may be, He is not eager to learn it. He doesn’t want to know in fear that, in the end, it was just one choice in life’s series of crossroads that made him different. He doesn’t want to add fuel to the blazing fire that is his self-doubt.

It was times like these that he can see, can hear, can _feel_ the screams that echo through the walls of every single place he visits. How he could _taste_ the blood that dried on the floor, and how he can still remember the sight of their eyes, lifeless as they fought with their every single being.

The worst thing about it?

He could still hear _him._

Two halves a whole—

—two halves of a whole two halves of a _whole_ _—_

He could hear his voice in his brain, whispering things; suggestions, tiny tidbits that causes him to slip away little, by _little_ , by **little**. And now that his world is silenced with the unnatural peace of the Wizarding world, they only seem to get louder.

_GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT._

But _he_ doesn’t relent.

_GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT._

So He screams and shouts and claws out his own skin to get him OUT—

But he doesn’t. _He_ doesn’t leave.

And so a knife finds its way into his empty heart.

 

* * *

 

His fellow first year of Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was definitely strange.

He had green eyes that could seemingly pierce through skin, from the intense way he stared at Tom. Though young like him, his eyes were full of wisdom. But they were muddled, much like how a normal person finds it hard to distinguish a lone star from the endless tapestry that is the night sky.

When Tom asked if he had a name, eager to imprint his own on the mind of the first person he would be most likely sharing classes with, the boy simply stared into his luggage case. Upon scrutiny, Tom saw a neat engraving in one of the book bags the boy had brought with him.

His name was Harry.

Just Harry, he had said...

Just Harry then.

Though the entire exchange was strange, Tom stayed in that small compartment. He did not really pay any more attention to the strange boy.

 _What benefit could he get from further interacting with him?_ he thought.

* * *

 

Nothing that could definitely be enough to warrant putting up with the strange boy’s dream world.

The boy was not ‘Just Harry.’

He was Hadrian from the illustrious Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Peverell. A line thought to have died out till one male child had mysteriously appeared and claim its heirship. This was what he heard from the other children that were still lining up.

He was standing in the podium, the sorting hat still deciding about where to sort the Peverell boy. It’s been like this for 5 minutes, and it’s starting to get on Tom’s nerves. Despite all the attention Peverell got from being stuck under the hat for so long, the boy looked perfectly calm, and was even tapping his foot with the rhythm of an unknown song.

One particularly chatty young witch (Selwyn, she called herself) was gushing about the entire history of the Peverells in front of the other children, who were still waiting for their chance to be sorted. Out of curiosity, Tom asked for more information, but Selwyn simply took one long, hard look at him, and curled her lips. She then turned away from him with barely a glance. Contempt boils inside of him **_(He resisted the urge to fill her body with burns by slowly coaxing one of the candles floating above the great hall to drip hot wax on her eyes.)_ **

A piercing scream echoed through the air. Selwyn clutched her face. The attention of everyone in the Great Hall was drawn to the still unsorted Selwyn heiress.

The teachers rushed to the young witch. Whispers filled the hall and heads are rising above the sea of students to see where it came from.

The other children moved back from Selwyn as she clawed at her face like a mad woman.

The school nurse (mediwitch?)  murmured a charm and then Selwyn was taken to the medical wing.

The Great Hall exploded.

_“What happened?”_

_“I thought the candles couldn’t drip wax.”_

_“Was she okay?”_

Tom’s lips quirked into a small frown. ( **_Pity it missed_ ** )

When he glanced back up from the podium, his slate-colored eyes locked on with Peverell’s emerald green. The Peverell heir stared at him, expressionless.

Finally, the hat said:

“SLYTHERIN”

 

* * *

 

Tom was as much of a hat stall as he was compassionate.

The hat barely touched his head before yelling, “SLYTHERIN!”

Much to Tom’s surprise (not).

Dumbledore looked at him with suspicion but Tom barely cared. He made a mistake when he was given a visit by the old codger a few months ago. He got too excited, too careless when he was indeed confirmed to be different and _special_ compared to all the other orphans at St. Wools.

Oh, don’t be mistaken, he already knew he was, but the fact that the every celestial being aligned just right so it catered to Tom’s needs made everything so much _sweeter_.

They were now heading to the dungeons, Tom and the other Slytherin first years are being guided by the prefects. One of them, Lucretia Black, was detailing which corridors they should pass to get to their respective classes. Tom was walking with the group but the same could not be said for Peverell.

The aforementioned Slytherin was wandering about, his pace leisurely as if he were walking through a park. His actions eventually lead to one of the prefects to hover anxiously beside him.

“Isn’t this portrait pretty?” asked Peverell, his feet digging into the ground as the prefect pulled his arm.

The portrait, a plump witch with rosy cheeks, giggled.

“Not now, Peverell. The rest of the group is almost at the common room. With this attitude, how on Earth were you not sorted into Hufflepuff?” The prefect sighed, released Peverell and beckoned him to follow before heading towards their group.

Peverell followed, but not before whispering something that made the portrait face scrunch with confusion.

 _“You’re prettier without all the screams and the reds,”_ Tom heard.

“Here we are!”  Lucretia Black exclaimed.

She gestured towards a particularly boring, bare stretch of stone wall.

“This is where the common room is so I hope **none** of you will be stupid enough to forget where it is…” She glanced at Crabbe. “….although I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple do.”

She then turns her back and said, “Mathilda Grimblehawk.”

The stone wall shook to reveal a captivating room filled with emerald throne-like chairs, animal rugs, floating chandeliers and walls that showed the lake they had just passed through earlier ( _The Black Lake, The Hogwarts Historian: Complete collection by Aurelius McMillan, page 23, supplies_ ).

“The password changes every two weeks so do not forget to peer into the notice board bi-weekly. You’ll be stuck outside otherwise until a kind soul lets you in, and in Slytherin there are **none**.”

Tom could already feel the cogs of change turning.

 

* * *

 

Tom loathed the idea of death.

How the human body was so vulnerable, a blunt hit could leave it useless.

He admitted that of all things, oblivion and death were what scared him the most. When he was a child, he always fought through illnesses, determined to make it alive despite the lack of medicine. St. Wool’s orphanage never gave him any. He was just another dead boy among the thousands of others that died throughout the course of the great depression. He didn’t want to leave the world forgotten. He was special, he was—different!

His tombstone won’t be covered in vines, it would be engraved in gold. If Tom had his way, he wouldn’t have a gravestone at all!

Death was a weakness and Tom would like to erase the very idea that he had one.

( _He tried to forget how the other orphans mistreated him, hurt him back when he saw the world with rose-tinted glasses. Them being jealous of Tom who had the brains and the looks to succeed in the world where boys like them died by the minute. Those lenses broke, and now the way he saw the world was scarred and could never be healed again.)_

He remembered how the tension rose in the summer of his first year.

A war, they said, was blooming across the horizon.

Hitler, an ambitious man, was leading the Germans. Nazis, they said. He would bring with him pestilence, death, famine, and war.

That’s when Tom decided no, he won’t be a memory to be forgotten in the course of time. He will mark himself through the veins of history.

The rest of the world would simply have to adjust.

 

* * *

 

On his 4th year, Tom finally sat on his throne.

To be the one that sits on top, one must have charisma, power, intelligence, blood, and wealth. Tom may have been at a disadvantage, being a penniless orphan that was definitely not pureblood, but he rose to his position only equipped with 3 out of 5 essential things **_.(Anybody who opposed his rule was simply… taken care of.)_ **

It was not easy during his first year. Every single one of his dorm mates mocked him relentlessly for his lack of blood status and wealth, but he strived against the odds. He adapted. He played the game. And now? He was reaping the benefits.

He was the perfect student. The golden boy of Hogwarts. Gryffindors joked with him, Ravenclaws debated with him, Hufflepuffs asked him for help on homework, the Slytherins followed his orders, and the teachers sang him praises (excluding Dumbledore). He also had a loyal following, The Knights of Walpurgis that he, himself, had created.

The only one indifferent was Peverell.

It’s been three years since they’ve met, and Peverell only grew stranger by the day. He is always late, using bizarre happenings as excuses (“Sorry Professor Merrythought, My dog was stuck in the Drapes and he can’t get out”,   “Sorry Professor Slughorn, a ferret almost burned itself and I had to save it” “Don’t worry Professor, I already know this lesson, a werewolf told me all about it!”), suddenly stops and stares at random spots on the wall or on the floor, and would stare at Tom for very long periods of time.

Despite this, Hadrian Peverell always manages to tie with him during exams. Not a point more, not a pointless. He asks Peverell about this one day and he just smiles that secretive smile of his and said “Moldyshorts would be angry if I didn’t.” in which he then turns around then skips off to talk to the Half-Breed of Gryffindor.

Tom might never be able to decipher the mystery that is Hadrian Peverell but he doesn’t consider it a particularly important goal at the moment.

 

* * *

 

Tom Marvolo Riddle finally knew who he truly was in his 5th year

He was a Slytherin.

An _actual_ Slytherin. There was a reason why he could talk to snakes, how he could tell them what to do, how he could hiss their language without learning it from any kind of book. He was different yes! But this made him even more _special_ . This made him the _cream_ of the crop.

He had to find the Chamber.

Located at pages 738 & 374 of History Hieroglyphics by Genovan Nott and page 420 of The Hogwarts Historian: Complete collection by Aurelius McMillan, there exists underneath the school dungeons, the Chamber of Secrets. His ancestor, Salazar Slytherin had built to purge the school of impure blood.

It was his, his destiny for him to discover it!

He could finally cleanse the school from the blood that had tainted Hogwarts’ walls. ( **He could finally cleans the school of the blood of those filthy muggles that do no good to the Wizarding world. Polluting the tradition of Tom’s safe haven, changing what was the blood and water of wizarding kind to cater to their own needs and wants and whatever** **_filthy_ ** **thing those uneducated swines whine about** )  

And so he put himself to work.

He followed the signs etched through the history of her walls and did not fail in tracing the history of his ancestors. He was a Gaunt. One of the last group of families who were considered to have untainted blood by the populace.

His little black heart soared.

Was it not his duty as the heir of Slytherin to continue the mission of his ancestors? To _clean_ Hogwarts of impure blood that roams the halls with its filth?

He was now walking on the second-floor corridor, determination coloring his slate eyes. He was going to do it today. Mark 1943 as the year Hogwarts will finally be _pure._

He had his alibi, he was a prefect after all, he was meant to be roaming the halls at night to prevent anything _untoward_ to be happening. Everything in his alibi was air-lock tight, no holes can be found and he even made sure to roam the halls tomorrow a little earlier to see the results of his efforts and to be the one who will report about it; after all, what kind of criminal would reveal their own crime?

He was about to enter the girls’ bathroom when a melodious voice alerted him of another’s presence.

In all his other-worldly glory, Peverell’s eyes glowed underneath the light of the pale brilliance of the torches mounted on the walls.

“I wouldn’t do that If I were you.”, He said, his voice firm.

“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean Peverell. I’m just roaming the halls for students out of their beds. Speaking of such, you might want to scurry back to the common room. I’m not that strict on my housemates but the other prefects are not.”

Peverell just stared at him with his unnerving eyes. Peverell had always been strange, but right now it seems as if the shorter boy was seeing through his very soul, very akin to a god judging the sinners destined for everlasting punishment.

“Don’t make take off points Peverell” Tom continued, staring down the wizard before him with an impenetrable gaze… but he didn’t back off.

“Expelliarmus!”, the boy in front of him suddenly said, performing the spell so quickly Tom barely had any time to react.

“Protego!” He retaliated and raised his arm high and performed the wand movement, but before his shield could fully form Tom lost his balance.

Peverell’s foot tripped him.

If Tom wasn’t the victim he would have applauded the wit of the opponent, but unfortunately, he was, so the only thing on his mind was utter hatred at being fooled, at himself for not paying enough attention and at Peverell who had the guts to meddle in his plans.

The other wizard pointed the end of his wand to the Slytherin prefect’s chin, Tom’s wand on the other hand.

“Choose correctly, Riddle” He whispers, then he dropped Tom’s wand on the floor and leaves as if nothing happened.

Tom’s eyes followed the retreating back until it disappears into one of the many corridors of Hogwarts.

Maybe Hadrian Peverell was worth studying after all.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Tom still decided to open the chamber.

He ignores Peverell’s warnings thinking that it was another of his endless episodes where he just says things that confuse everyone around him.

(He remembers Peverell once offering some catnip to one of the younger Gryffindors, “Want one McGonagall?”)

Back to the present, three mudbloods are on the hospital wing, all petrified by some unknown force of magic.

The reaction of the entirety of the school was mixed.

The mudbloods began huddling together, not leaving any place without the comfort of a friend or housemate beside them. The half bloods are wary, they too have placed precautions around themselves to prevent getting victimized by the unknown force. The purebloods, on the other hand, had a whole 'nother reaction, they jeered at the mudbloods, saying that it was finally time somebody took action against all the filth the muggleborns were spreading.

Tom bit hard into his apple.

“Did you know that Lucretia Black just married a Prewett?” said Alphard Black, his face stuffed with the mashed potato the elves made for dinner.

“That is utterly disgusting, cease what you are doing Alphard” seethed Walburga, her grey eyes aflamed with disgust and fury, her lips twisting into a sneer.

“How very Alphard of you to gossip about who marries who when people are getting petrified left and right.” a female voice chided, Dorea Black.

“You have always been so sympathetic Dorea.” Walburga replied sarcastically.

“Just because it’s the mudbloods getting it, doesn’t make it right!” she exclaimed.

Tom tones down the rest of the conversation as it is mostly another episode of Dorea, being the kind yet naïve girl that she is, defends the mudbloods while Walburga with her sharp tongue just cuts down her every response.

“Whatever this vigilante does doesn’t matter you fools.” A voice cuts through.

Druella Rosier, with all her cynicism, was looking at the Black cousins with disinterest. She sips from her cup of pumpkin juice.

“They are incompetent anyway, Heir of Slytherin…” she sneers “What a disgrace.”

The glass she was holding broke into a thousand pieces.

 

* * *

 

Tom was internally seething in fury.

He had already released the basilisk for 4 times and he only yielded negative results.

Every single mudblood was only petrified, each and every one of them was lucky enough to be gazing through something every time they accidentally looked at the basilisk’s eyes.

None of them even got bit!

That chain would end today. Tom was sure of it. He would oversee this one himself. He would make sure that the will of his ancestors will finally be brought to _life_.

And he did not disappoint.

The weak, spineless girl from Ravenclaw, Myrtle Warren was dead. Tom believed he had done some god unto the world by killing the wench. She did nothing but whine and cry all the time and it got on everyone’s nerves. It didn’t help that she was as ugly as an acne-ridden toad.

 **_§ Letting the beast loose was a very bad idea Tom. §_ ** a firm voice said.

It took Tom a while to decipher that it was Parseltongue ( _Parseltongue!_ ) that was coming out from the intruder’s lips.

The hair at the nape of his neck rose.

 _‘How could he speak Parseltongue? Why was Peverell here? What did Peverell want?’_ , those, and a million other questions were racing through Tom’s brain when he saw the boy, whose head was normally up in the clouds staring at him with cold eme- no, Avada Kedavra green eyes. His normally well-organized mind descended into chaos upon hearing the sacred tongue of his treasured ancestors from an intruder’s lips.

Hadrian Peverell was standing in front of Tom with the very same position they were standing upon three weeks ago. His posture, much like a judge in court, weighing the sins of a criminal in front of him.

**_§ It was very stupid of you to do so when I have warned you 3 weeks ago, dear Tom. Now, Myrtle Warren is dead all because of you. Imagine what would be the professor’s reaction to such a crime.  §_ **

Tom wanted to tear that smug smile out of Peverell's face.

Calm. Calm. Calm.

A king did not win battles by being hasty with his decisions.

He strengthened his mind. ** _(He wanted to strangle the boy. RIP his innards out of his stomach and let him hang in the middle of the great hall by his intestines.He could make an example out of Peverell, decapitate his air-filled head and mount it in a pike to show HOW THIEVES ARE PUNISHED BY THE KING.  HOW DARE HE STEAL WHAT WAS RIGHTFULLY TOM’S!  He was the only ONE who was supposed to be special. DIFFERENT! NOW THIS NO-NAME WAS TRYING TO STEAL WHAT WAS-)_ **

Calm. Calm. Calm

 **_§I know what you are thinking Tom §_** the usurper said, cutting through the silence like melted butter. His eyes shone in amusement.

 **_§Don’t do what you intend to do or I’ll be forced to intervene §_ ** The boy said while turning his back to Tom.

Two words. Tom can already imagine the spell hitting the boy’s back. The exact shade of the wizard’s eyes hitting dead center on his spinal column. He remembers how he used the exact same incantation on poor, defenseless animals roaming across the Black Lake at night, how the rise and fall of their chests stopped just by saying 6 syllables. How easy it was to kill.

His wand glows green.

But before Tom could raise his arm, Peverell raised his own and casted.

“STUPEFY!”

Then all Tom knew was darkness.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t see anything.

His head was pounding and both his arms and legs were tied.

_“Fac horologium est e converso,_

_Redde quod meum est cum esset_

_Sana quod est nocere_

_Mutata sors est scriptor 'consilio_

_Salvum facere quod perierat_

_Redde quod meum est cum esset_

_Quod semel meum est”_

He felt dizzy. His head was light and everything was just so intense. He could smell the scent of candles burning through his nostrils, he could hear the sound of chalk scraping across the floor, he could feel ink tattooed at his wrist and he could taste blood in his mouth.

_“Omnis enim vita, non paenitet potest. Septem invidia, ira, avaritia, gula, luxuria, ignavia et superbiam laberetur. Tu et custodiat te, donec te est peccatorum mercedem tuam.”_

Then all Tom felt was pain. What he thinks is a knife stabs through his stomach.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

**(He remembers the orphanage, the priests tying his arms by the foot of his bed. BURNING. BURNING. BURNING. Candle wax dripping through his torso and all he felt then was PAIN PAIN PAIN**

_“In the Name and by the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away and driven from the Church of God and from the souls made to the image and likeness of God and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb.”_

**The priest asks him his name. He does not answer.**

_“ Most cunning serpent, you shall no more dare to deceive the human race, persecute the Church, torment God's elect and sift them as wheat._

**They were speaking in Latin, telling him to stay away, asking how many of them there were. He does not know what they mean. They continue to chant.**

_“The Most High God commands you, He with whom, in your great insolence, you still claim to be equal.”_

**They pour in oils and herbs and Tom just wants everything to end.**

_“God who wants all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.")_

Tom screams from the pain.

_“Omnis enim vita, non paenitet potest. Septem invidia, ira, avaritia, gula, luxuria, ignavia et superbiam laberetur. Tu et custodiat te, donec te est peccatorum mercedem tuam.”_

His world turns dark.

“May you choose wisely this time, Riddle”

 

* * *

 

He woke up sweaty and gasping.

Was he in a bed? Tom clutched the sheets and ran his hand through his curly locks.

Was it a dream? It must be a dream. Peverell wouldn’t have the guts to perform a ritual like that.

It was just a nightmare in the end.

He glances at the bed beside his: Peverell’s. He stood up to open the younger boy’s drapes. When he did, he saw the younger boy spread out like a starfish, his mouth open to form a small ‘o’, and wearing his green cotton pajamas.

He sighs.

The Slytherin heir then headed towards the dresser to gather his things and prepare for his morning routine, but as he reached for the door of his dresser he notices something inscribed on his wrist.

“ **_6_ ** ”

He ignores the number on his wrist, thinking that he could scrub it off later, maybe a Slytherin was stupid enough to write the number in his sleep.

 

* * *

 

The day was getting odder and odder.

The day was going exactly as it had on the events of his dream, events that happened a week before his death. To make matters worse, he couldn’t even get the stupid number out of his wrist.

Tom grabbed an apple from the center of the table.

You could feel the tension in Hogwart’s air.

Everybody was huddled because of the petrification of several mudbloods. The mudbloods didn’t go anywhere without a companion anymore nor did the half bloods, the purebloods on the other only used the events jeers and taunts.

“Did you know that Lucretia Black just married a Prewett?” said Alphard Black, his face stuffed with the mashed potato the elves made for dinner.

Tom’s blood ran cold.

It couldn’t be. It _couldn’t be_.

“How very Alphard of you to gossip about who marries who when people are getting petrified left and right.” a female voice chided, Dorea Black.

Tom was experiencing intense déjà vu from the black cousin’s conversation.

“You have always been so sympathetic Dorea,” Walburga replied sarcastically.

Tom suddenly stood up.

Every pair of eyes was suddenly on him. His mind had descended to chaos and he could not function properly, he could hear blood pumping through his brain.

He saw Peverell stare at him with undecipherable emotion.

“What’s wrong Riddle?”, asked Druella Rosier.

“I have to go.”, Tom hastily said,  and then he ran out of the great hall as fast as he can.

 

* * *

 

Tom leaned on the doors of the Prefect’s bathroom.

His heart was racing, his hands were numb and he couldn’t breathe.

“Tempus.”, he casted, his palm sweating and his hand shaking.

‘06/13/1943  08:19:32’

‘06/13/1943  08:19:33’

‘06/13/1943  08:19:34’

It was June 13, 1943.

It was finally the day he was going to ‘die’ in his ‘dream’ and so far everything he had dreamt had come true. All week he had been acting like he had in the dream, aside from his minor episode in the great hall every single thing was the same.

Tom closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Calm. Calm. Calm.

A king did not win battles by being hasty with his decisions.

Calm. Calm. Calm.

He opened his eyes and decided.

 

* * *

 

On June 13, 1943, Myrtle Warren did not die.

On June 13, 1943, the petrifications ceased and the professors swept the incident under the rug

On June 13, 1943, the half-giant, Hagrid, was not framed, arrested, nor expelled.

On June 13, 1943, Tom’s Riddle lived his 2nd life. His attention focused on Hadrian Peverell.

* * *

  _TO BE CONTINUED…_

* * *

 

 _“It would be curious to discover who it is to whom one writes in a_ **_diary_ ** _. Possibly to some mysterious personification of one's own identity. “_

_-Beatrice Webb_

 

* * *

 Shameless self-promo: If you guys want to send writing requests or just random asks hit me up at [Mustachiest](https://mustachiest.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! It gets lonely :)

 

**Author's Note:**

> The ritual translates to Rapunzel's Healing Song without the first part if anybody's wondering. It's not mine it's just been stuck in my head for a very long time now.  
> "Make the clock reverse  
> Bring back what once was mine 
> 
> Heal what has been hurt  
> Change the Fate's' design  
> Save what has been lost  
> Bring back what once was mine  
> What once was mine"


End file.
